Macleod of Dare eBook

“Glenogie understand it, any way,” said
she, blithely, “and naturally he rode off at
once to see his dying sweetheart.

“’Pale and wan
was she, when Glenogie gaed ben,
But rosy-red grew
she when Glenogie sat down.
She turned away
her head, but the smile was in her e’e,Oh, binna feared,
mither, I’ll maybe no dee.’”

She shut the piano.

“Isn’t it charmingly simple and tender,
papa?” she said, with the same mischief in her
eyes.

“I think it is foolish of you to think of exchanging
that piece of doggerel—­”

“For what?” said she, standing in the
middle of the room. “For this?”

And therewith she sang these lines—­giving
an admirable burlesque imitation of herself, and her
own gestures, and her own singing in the part she
was then performing:—­

“The morning bells are swinging,
ringing,
Hail to the day!
The birds are winging, singing
To the golden day—­
To the joyous day—­
The morning bells are swinging, ringing,
And what do they say?
O bring my love to my love!
O bring my love to-day!
O bring my love to my love!
To be my love alway!’”

It certainly was cruel to treat poor Mrs. Ross’s
home-made lyrics so; but Miss White was burlesquing
herself as well as the song she had to sing.
And as her father did not know to what lengths this
iconoclastic fit might lead her, he abruptly bade
her good-night and went to bed, no doubt hoping that
next morning would find the demon exorcised from his
daughter.

As for her, she had one more loving look over the
skins, and then she carefully read through the note
that accompanied them. There was a smile on her
face—­perhaps of pleasure, perhaps of amusement
at the simplicity of the lines. However, she
turned aside, and got hold of a small writing-desk,
which she placed on the table.

“‘Oh, here is,
Glenogie, a letter for thee,’”

she hummed to herself, with a rather proud look on
her face, as she seated herself and opened the desk.

CHAPTER XVII.

“FHIR A BHATA!”

Young Ogilvie had obtained some brief extension of
his leave, but even that was drawing to a close; and
Macleod saw with a secret dread that the hour of his
departure was fast approaching. And yet he had
not victimized the young man. After that first
burst of confidence he had been sparing in his references
to the trouble that had beset him. Of what avail,
besides, could Mr. Ogilvie’s counsels be?
Once or twice he had ventured to approach the subject
with some commonplace assurances that there were always
difficulties in the way of two people getting married,
and that they had to be overcome with patience and
courage. The difficulties that Macleod knew of
as between himself and that impossible goal were deeper
than any mere obtaining of the consent of friends or
the arrangement of a way of living. From the moment
that the terrible truth was forced on him he had never
regarded his case but as quite hopeless; and yet that
in no way moderated his consuming desire to see her—­to
hear her speak—­even to have correspondence
with her. It was something that he could send
her a parcel of otter-skins.